First Rider's Call

“I am the king of Sacoridia, yet so much is beyond my grasp—I’m powerless in so many ways to affect things, just as I cannot touch the workings of the heavens. And yet, I am ever hopeful.”

“What is it,” Karigan said, her voice quavering, “that you hope for?”

“I hope there is a place for faith and dreams.” He paused for a moment, gazing intently at her. “And I need you to know how I feel about you, Karigan, no matter what may come. If you will not accept the gift as it is, a queen’s gift given by a king, then I shall respect your wishes. Do know that it will always be here waiting for you.”

She turned and ran, never seeing the sorrow in his eyes.

It was with an odd combination of happiness and grief that on the last evening of the summer, Karigan watched her fellow Riders file into the records room. There was curiosity on their faces, and some were making nervous jokes, but she detected they sensed something larger afoot.

Ben, still preferring his mender’s smock over Rider green, wore a perpetual expression of bewilderment these days. His special ability had manifested almost immediately—it was an ability that augmented the mending skills he already possessed. He could pour his own energies into a patient to help them heal.

The first patient to benefit from his gift was Mara. He had pulled her back from death and given her the strength she needed to fight the festering of her burns and the lung illness. She would forever bear terrible scars, but she would be well.

Ben told Karigan that Mara was already making the captain pay up on some bet they’d made about her and Drent. Karigan planned to get to the bottom of it as soon as she could.

In the meantime, the captain continued to negotiate with Destarion over just how Ben would serve as a Rider, while continuing with his mending duties. The poor fellow, Karigan thought, was going to be busy, but at least it might save him from dealing with horses for a little longer.

Dakrias Brown buzzed around the chamber in excitement. It wasn’t often so many came to his domain. He was a decidedly happy host, greeting each Rider as she or he entered. In the absence of Weldon Spurlock, King Zachary had promoted Dakrias to chief administrator. Surprisingly, he chose to continue working out of the records room. When Karigan had entered, he told her conspiratorially, “They’ve become very friendly.”

“Who?” Karigan asked.

“You know who.”

“I do?”

“Them.” Dakrias gestured vaguely around the room, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “The ghosts, of course.”

“Oh. Of . . . course.”

“They’ve been very helpful with the filing, you know.”

Well, Karigan had to admit, she had known a ghost or two to be rather helpful herself.

Then Dakrias drew closer. “Actually,” he confided, “I think they were trying to be helpful all along.”

Karigan raised an eyebrow, remembering the chaos the ghosts had left the records room in, and poor Dakrias’ frayed nerves. How did he figure they were being helpful?

As if hearing her thought, he continued, “I think they wanted my attention. I think they were trying to tell me something was terribly wrong in these old corridors.”

“Second Empire,” Karigan murmured, remembering how the ghosts had come to her aid when Uxton tried to abduct her.

Dakrias nodded vigorously. “Spurlock and his cronies met in the old section. Good thing our ghosts are anti-empire.”

Truly, Karigan thought, bemused.

Dakrias left her to greet other Riders trickling into the chamber. There was almost a full complement of Riders in attendance, which wasn’t saying much considering their diminished numbers. Dale was still recovering from her wounds in Woodhaven, and Alton had so far chosen not to return. Destarion would not permit Mara to leave her chamber. And there were others who should have been standing among them this night, but they were forever gone.

“Let us make a circle,” the captain said.

The idea might have been Karigan’s, but it was the captain’s place to carry it out. The Riders needed to look to their captain for solace and guidance, purpose and courage.

Karigan had enlisted aid from her friends among the Weapons. They carried in the chest of Rider artifacts with due respect. Item by item, the captain revealed pieces of Rider history.

Meanwhile, the Weapon Donal lit a lamp in a darkened space that illuminated the silky banner of the Green Riders. There was a collective intake of breath as the Riders took in its beauty and the shining gold winged horse moving as with life.

When the cross sash of Lil Ambrioth was revealed, the Weapon Allis passed out bits of plaid much like the original to each of the Riders. Karigan’s father had hurriedly acquired the cloth and shipped it to her. How he managed such a feat in so short a time, she had yet to find out.

“In memory of the First Rider,” the captain said, “you may pin these beneath your brooches so they make a fitting backdrop. From now on Lil Ambrioth’s plaid will be incorporated into your uniforms.”

That part was a surprise to even Karigan. She did suspect there had been some correspondence going on between the captain and her father, and this is what it must have been about.

By the time the captain revealed Lil’s horn again, there were few dry eyes in the records room.

“There is much that has been forgotten over the years by and about Green Riders,” the captain explained. “It is time to remember. Time to remember our history and the heroic acts of the past. Time to remember our fallen. Would everyone please hold hands?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">